lossom of the red geranium that bloomed in the
farmhouse window, a piece of cake with plums in it, a bunch of trailing
arbutus,--once it was a little bit of blue ribbon, tied in a certain
square knot--so--perhaps you know that sign too? That did Jean's heart
good also.

But what kind of conversation was there in the cabane when the sick
man's delirium had passed and he knew what had happened to him? Not much
at first, for the man was too weak. After he began to get stronger, he
was thinking a great deal, fighting with himself. In the end he came out
pretty well--for a lawyer of his kind. Perhaps he was desirous to leave
the man whom he had deceived, and who had nursed him back from death,
some fragment, as much as possible, of the dream that brightened his
life. Perhaps he was only anxious to save as much as he could of his own
reputation. At all events, this is what he did.

He told Jean a long story, part truth, part lie, about his
investigations. The estate and the title were in the family; that was
certain. Jean was the probable heir, if there was any heir; that was
almost sure. The part about Pierre had been a--well, a mistake. But
the trouble with the whole affair was this. A law made in the days of
Napoleon limited the time for which an estate could remain unclaimed. A
certain number of years, and then the government took everything. That
number of years had just passed. By the old law Jean was probably a
marquis with a castle. By the new law?--Frankly, he could not advise
a client to incur any more expense. In fact, he intended to return the
amount already paid. A hundred and ten dollars, was it not? Yes, and
fifty dollars for the six weeks of nursing. VOILA, a draft on Montreal,
a hundred and sixty dollars,--as good as gold! And beside that, there
was the incalculable debt for this great kindness to a sick man, for
which he would always be M. de la Motte's grateful debtor!

The lawyer's pock-marked face--the scars still red and angry--lit
up with a curious mixed light of shrewdness and gratitude. Jean was
somewhat moved. His castle was in ruins. But he remained noble--by the
old law; that was something!

A few days later the doctor pronounced it safe to move the patient. He
came with a carriage to fetch him. Jean, well fumigated and dressed in a
new suit of clothes, walked down the road beside them to the farm-house
gate. There Alma met him with both hands. His eyes embraced her. The
air of June was radiant